Vessel
by Random-Hime
Summary: LJ Kinkmeme Deanon.  Russia and America's peaceful winter night is destroyed by a freakish yandere Canada, who forces sex on America with Russia's pipe.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Axis Powers Hetalia. This is for entertainment and not profit. However, I do claim rights to the plot of this fanfiction.

I Began publishing this on July 1st because this story involves Canada and this American knows it's Canada's birthday... and no one else I saw today did... and they made fun of me for drawing maple leaves on my face and celebrating our northern brother's independence and how he got it... DAMN YOU, STUPID AMERICANS! DAMN YOU...

I am not new to fanfiction, but this is my first LJ KinkMeme deanon.

The original request can be found here:

ht tp : / hetalia-kink . livejournal . com / ?thread=75539514#t75539514

And reads as follows:

_"Two things in the fandom I rather enjoy are Russia fucking America with his pipe against America's will, and Russia and America in a happy lovey sweet couple. The two things don't go together real well. XD So how about RussAme in a fluffy relationship, and another male character (human, nation, OC, doesn't matter) somehow capturing them and fucking America with Russia's pipe while Russia is forced to watch in horror. Nice and descriptive with the pipe penetration would be loved. ^^;"_

Without further ado, a randomly-titled M-rated story about said prompt, _Vessel_.

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><p>In preparation of the coming storm, America had turned off all the lights and appliances in his two-story cabin, deep in the woods of the Alaskan tundra. The windows were shut, locked, and even bolted. Once again checking the pantry in the kitchen, he ran through the list of supplies he needed to get through what was forecast to be almost a blizzard. He had canned food, plenty of bottled water, and even stocked up on vitamins and non-perishables in case the storm and the cleanup afterwards lasted longer than expected, which Russia, in his familiarity with such matters, had said was wise to expect.<p>

Speaking of Russia, the large man came in through the front door, allowing a frigid gust of winter air and some snowdrifts inside before he managed to kick it shut, occupied with yet another bundle of firewood. As he walked down the hallway, passing the American headed upstairs for more blankets, he leaned down, perfectly in time with Alfred walking by on his tiptoes, and shared a sweet, chaste kiss, perfected by countless practices.

Russia gathered a day's amount of food from the pantry and some cooking and eating utensils and brought it over to the room where the giant fireplace already hosted a sizable inferno. With another thought, he left for another room off the living room and returned with several of his and America's favorite books and board games. Neither man was fool enough to think that the power would last yet another hour. Russia wouldn't be surprised if it had already gone out and he hadn't noticed, just because they had quit using the lights thirty minutes ago.

An alarmingly large mass of blankets seemed to ooze its downy way to the bottom of the stairs, and Russia's lips twitched upward at the feat Alfred was trying to accomplish. Getting up, he walked over to the landing and caught his tripping lover before relieving him of half his load, receiving a kiss on the cheek and a soft, "Thank you, Vanya" in return. He decided to reply with a kiss of his own, and the faint pink that briefly graced Alfred's cheeks made it even more worth it.

With a mass of giant blankets, a giant pile of firewood lined up against the wall, suitable entertainment, and seemingly endless stores of food amassed in the comfy sitting room, Ivan and Alfred took to the huge armchair in front of the fire, draped a quilt handmade by Ukraine over themselves, curled into each other, and fell asleep.

As Alfred drifted off, he thought winter might not be so bad if it had cocoa, fireplaces, private cabins, and his Vanya.

* * *

><p>The fire crackled ceaselessly in the fireplace, warming the two cozy lovers beneath the blankets. Other than the flickers of light dancing throughout the room, nothing moved. For a while, all was still.<p>

Then, from upstairs, came a very wooden creak. It cut off quickly, as if terrified of its discovery, before carrying on in a much muted fashion. Shadows rhythmically began to descend the staircase. As the figure emerged further into the widely open room, the silhouette of a human figure could be made out. Lithe and agile, but featureless in the darkness it hid in, watching the two sleeping innocents with something hateful in sparkling eyes.

How could... how _dare_ that stupid, egotistical "_superpower_" sleep with that abominable _monster_ of a Russian! Insane, both of them, surely! Who would bed with Russia so willingly, so happily, but that moronic, endearing America? Moronic, sweet, but so painfully _stupid_ America, whose eyesight must surely be failing to only see that madman instead of what was right in front of him, what had always stood beside him, supported him, thanklessly...

It was time to teach both of them a lesson. America not to ignore him, to shun his devotions; Russia to keep his hands off his America.

The intruder noticed that the only form of defense they seemed to have was Russia's pipe, currently held in his spare hand. He sneered in disgust as he tested out the foreign weapon; light and easily malleable to his style of fighting. He knew better than anyone that a weapon's weight did not determine the amount of damage it could deal.

Well, the snow was going to trap them here, all night long, without any way out. And neither would be allowed to leave until he got what he wanted.

Slipping into the kitchen, the intruder cut the phone wires and confiscated the nations' cell phones in the fire. Returning to the living room, he debated the merits of tossing the damn Russian's pipe in the snow, and opted to do that later, using it for self-defense if necessary. In his haste, he had left his own bludgeon of choice at home. He wasn't supposed to know this place existed, much less that Russia and America decided to have a little vacation up here together. NORAD proved invaluable at times.

In any case, he packed only enough to get by, making sure to arrive and hide before the other two, taking only the bare essentials to carry out his plan. Punishment for Russia, punishment for Alfred, and then a reward when his darling learned his lesson and entered the arms of the right man, the one he should have been with all along.

He glanced at his beloved, resting in the arms of that despicable excuse for a man. Reaching for his things, he lightly stood up and made his way over to the two, both flushed pleasantly warm. Well, that would soon change...the "pleasantly" part, at least.

Gripping the corner of the quilt, he slowly peeled it off of the two sleeping nations, both covered in a light sheen of sweat from the combination of their body heat, proximity, blanket, and fire. Working quickly, he took hold of one of America's limp arms and positioned it so he had a clear aim at the antebrachial vein. He pressed into the vein slowly before injecting the contents of the syringe into his arm. The small prick healed almost immediately, and he lapped up the small spot of his victim's blood. Rubbing the American's cheek, his assailant turned to deal with his Russian lover. Lifting a large arm from underneath America, He took out yet another syringe and needle, injecting far more of the same liquid into his arm, and a small amount of a second kind. After he deemed them both to be suitably harmless, he hoisted America carefully out of Russia's lap and placed him on the floor. He then unceremoniously dumped the Russian on the ground, no longer caring about stealth. Still, the man did not wake, and intruder returned to his things. He returned to the Russian's side with a dark look and a length of barbed wire, and set to work immobilizing the larger man.

He couldn't be allowed to interfere.

* * *

><p>Ivan had lived through many things throughout his almost two millenniums of Nationhood. The tundra and the taiga had beaten survival and instincts into his core, and as a result he realized immediately that something was wrong.<p>

For one, he was lying on his side, when he fell asleep with his back sinking amidst the cushions of the armchair, and now his was lying on something not nearly as comfortable. In fact, if he had to guess, it felt like...the rug. Yes. It _was_ the rug, he could recognize its thickness and its distinctive scent and he could faintly feel the floor beneath it... But how had he gotten here?

He assumed America had something to do with it, because second of all, he no longer felt the other Nation anywhere near him, and could not hear him either. But then, where was he?

Ivan almost made to get up. But last, and certainly not least, he realized that he couldn't.

He made certain not to move a muscle. Not to flicker open his eyes and alert any possible watcher to his wakefulness. Instead, he let his mind take over, feeling his bonds. Higher up on his arms, tied as tightly as such weak fabric could hope to bind, was his scarf. His precious scarf. America respected his value of the scarf and never even touched it without permission. He would never do this. A whole other set of alarms began to sound in Ivan's head; either the culprit thought this would be funny, to tie someone up so pointlessly with a scarf, or the person was familiar enough with him to know that he would never, ever willingly harm the scarf Ukraine had made for him. Taking into account their currently location, and all its security in its privacy, his stomach dropped as he realized it would probably be the latter.

Another set of binds restrained his wrists and ankles. He felt them; they were metal, and in some areas, surprisingly sharp. Taking a risk, he shifted his feet and flexed his fingers; both received painful pricks. Russia had to restrain a hiss. If those had broken skin, he would probably have been infected. He knew what it was. Barbed wire.

Despite being strong restraints, the consequences of breaking them deterred Russia from escaping them only unless necessary. Whoever was doing this was clever, and certainly had planned in advance.

The crackling of the fire almost obscured the nearly-mute sounds of a moving body close by; the rustling of fabric over skin, even breathing, indiscernible whispers, shifting muscles, miscellanies sliding and swishing. Having discovered all he could through touch and hearing, Ivan finally settled for sight.

His eyesight was bleary and unfocused from sleep, even the soft firelight blinding to newly awakened eyes. Keeping as still and silent as he could, Ivan let his eyes adjust and focus, forcing himself to be patient as they did. When he finally regained his full vision, he took in a deep breath through his nose and looked for the source of the sound. His heart skipped several beats.

His lover, his America, was lying, completely naked, on his stomach, unconscious, while he too was bound. Not with scarves or barbed wire, but with handcuffs, two pairs of them for reinforcement. Even amid his internal turmoil Ivan forced himself to scoff and pray that the person behind this underestimated even Alfred's superhuman strength. Even as he did so, Ivan noticed that his lover wore a blindfold and a sturdy-looking cloth gag, along with what appeared to be a compact set of ear protectors. Noticing movement further along Alfred's body, his eyes swept down the body before taking in a sight that almost made his heart stop.

Hands the same size and shape as Alfred's expertly worked thick, rough ropes around and around Alfred's ankles, slightly longer hair of a slightly darker shade waving in time with the rocking of his body. Though Ivan usually overlooked him, the weight of just _who_ he was, and _why in the world he would possibly want to do such a thing to America, of all people_, made it impossible for him to forget the culprit. His horrified, hitched breath made eyes an identical shade of violet lock with his own, and a cold gaze, one so frigid only the True North could wield it, examined him critically.

"..._Canada?_"

Canada eyed him coolly for a moment longer before his face warped into a smirk, and Ivan almost welcomed the change in expression but for the sudden malice the new one held. "Oh, how nice, you remembered me," Canada whispered, hollowly like Belarus. "Unfortunately, it doesn't really _mean _anything, since America is right here," he gently rested his hand on America's spine, "and it's easy to see I'm not a clone. Tell me, Braginski," he spat out the name like a curse, "How different am I from my little brother?"

Canada's claim to elder twin vaguely surprised Russia. Neither twin had ever been that definitive on who came first, and in general it was assumed that rambunctious America came before introverted Canada. To learn that the elder stood in the shadows of the younger-

Evidently the question had not been rhetorical, for Canada strode over and kicked Russia in the face out of sudden anger. Russia grunted at the pain, and Canada hissed, "_Answer the question. How different am I from my little brother?"_

Recoiling from Canada's range of attack, Russia curled in on himself, forcing himself to ignore the sore and surprisingly sharp pain where his nose felt like it had been bludgeoned flat. Staring straight into Canada's scowling face, he glowered and retorted. "Alfred is much more friendly and outgoing than you, and willing to go to greater lengths for them than you would. He is certainly much kinder than you. And apparently," his eyes narrowed, "more _mentally stable_."

Canada's face contorted into fury, and for one wild second Russia's heart leaped in panic before the usually-placid Nation schooled his features into a more tame anger. Then he grinned sickeningly. "I see. He's _kind_. Oh, it's true. He may single-handedly pave the road to hell with all his good intentions, but his heart's in the right place." He said this bitterly. "So kind. So naively, stupidly _kind_. Stupid enough to want to befriend you, stupid enough to submit to you, stupid enough not to realize that I loved him, I deserve him, I've always been destined to have him, I've always stood behind him, so near! But he can't see what's in front of his stupid, beautiful, _kind_ face..."

Russia leered as Canada trailed off. "'Always stood behind him'? 1812, _Canada_?"

"Cold War, _Ivan_?" Canada retorted easily. "No... 1812 was a misunderstanding... that's all. He couldn't see. He didn't realize," Canada stated with conviction, "that _he_ is not the one to take _me_, that _I_ should be the one taking _him_. He may be the 'leader' among the two of us, but I am the one he relies on.

"You wouldn't know this, Braginski," Canada suddenly switched tacks, "but long, long ago, before the Old World ever even _dreamed _of the faint idea that there might be a New World to discover, the American countries all shared the American continents and wandered freely over the land that wasn't split by Nation borders. Mexico -she was Maya back then, kept her name as a legacy - often took us down through the Amazon territory to visit Inca, and Aztec taught us some of our most important survival skills, along with how to build a city on the water. That idea never did take with our natives... But we would travel together most often, just the two of us, in what would become our lands. Alfred showed me which of his plants were poisonous, which animals to avoid, and in the winter, when we went up to my tundra, I would keep him warm." Fondness crossed over Canada's features at the memory. "Alfred never did feel truly at home up there... so I kept him warm, I kept him safe. I would curl up with him and wrap my arms around him and keep my little brother comfortable by my side...And I knew, with absolute certainty, that he was _my_ little brother, only _mine_," he snarled, and Russia realized that Canada hates England for an entirely different reason than his separation from France, "and anyone who takes him from me will _suffer_."

Disregarding the obvious danger he was in, Russia stared Canada in the eye. "What are you go-"  
>"Of course, Alfie is not completely blameless, either," Canada nearly coos, and Russia wants to heave. "Even if Einstein says so, it's just not possible for one single person to be so stupid as to willingly be fucked by someone who wanted him dead for forty years and completely miss someone so much <em>better<em> who's so much closer to him. Does it kill you, Ivan," he whispered. "No matter how close you are across that stupid Bering Straight, I'll always be closer~"

"That doesn't matter," Ivan growled. "He loves me, not y-"

A boot connected with his face and sent him reeling back.

"Oh, he _will_ love me," came the animalistic growl, solid footsteps advancing on the downed man. "I will _make_ him love me, I will _teach_ him to love me, I will teach him _not_ to love _you_. You just wait and see." Canada crouched down to the disoriented Russian, and, while still gathering his thoughts, binds his mouth shut with an impossibly long gag. He dragged the front end of his body so that he has a perfect view of his naked lover, and then Canada attended to a bag. He went through it before finding what he wanted; a cloth and a bottle of something. Ivan caught a whiff of the stuff, and reeled, knowing that it would wake America up in an instant. Canada wet the cloth and strode over to his sleeping brother, taking a moment to caress his sleeping face. Then Canada lifted his face by the forehead and held the cloth under his nose.

* * *

><p>Headcanon states that Canada is older. Not only did the Vikings land in Canada before anyone reached America's future lands, but, in leaving Russia by the land bridge across Berengia (now the Bering Straight between Russia and Alaska), the future Native Americans would have occupied Canada before any other land. I go by the first line of reasoning to explain Canada's age, but the second is an interesting observation as well.<p>

So, if you don't know what barbed wire looks like, you're dumb. Not really, but other than that, it's really painful to be stuck on. I know from second-hand experience. Some moron once tried to climb the fence at my community's swimming pool, and failed, as his entire stomach got impaled with barbed wire. And his entire stomach area was a black and green infected mess for weeks afterwards. Not fun, glad it wasn't me.

Ear protectors are like hard plastic earmuffs specifically made to protect your ears from loud noises, like lawn mowers or airplanes. They are usually big and bulky, so I cheated and made them compact.

Call this the warning chapter. I don't know why anybody would still be reading this if they didn't like what they knew was going to happen, but heads up everyone, it only gets hotter and heavier from here on out.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: If I didn't own Hetalia last chapter, it probably means I don't own it now. And guess what? I still don't!

I combined chapters two and three. I'm so bad. Anyway, here's what we've all been waiting for: forced sex with a pipe! YAYZLS!

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><p>The effect was instantaneous. With a huge shudder and a fit of muffled coughing, America woke up, and, jolted straight into alertness by the chemical, realized his current state, blindly trying to struggle against it. Russia frowned in worry as America barely managed to flop like a fish before settling on hyperventilation. Canada chuckled darkly and ran one hand along America's face, the fingers of the other reaching up to twirl Nantucket. America stiffened at the unfamiliar hand on his face, but Nantucket had the same reaction as ever and calmed America's breathing down, heat lightly flushing on his face.<p>

"What a slut, bowing to anyone," Canada cooed down at his brother, though he knew he couldn't hear him through the ear protectors. It was part of his punishment. He would enjoy Canada, however unwillingly, while Russia watched. "Even with muscle relaxants he's still so willing. But feel his heart race." Canada suddenly flipped America onto his back, exposing the Nation's naked form to view, feeling his chest, where his heart indeed pounded frantically. "He's so frightened... he can't see, he can't hear, he can't talk, he can't really even move... he must be so scared," Canada taunted as he ran his fingers along America's torso, groin, and inner thighs. America stiffened, shivered, and whimpered, but with his druggedly-relaxed muscles could not curl himself away from those invasive hands. Gritting his teeth, Russia tried to force himself up, but found himself almost completely paralyzed.

"I gave you even more muscle relaxant than him," Canada giggled. "And a little surprise, too. You see, _both_ of you need to realize that I would be much better with America than you, so as long as the message gets through, I don't care how it's done."

As Canada spoke, he noticed himself start to feel a little warmer, only enough to be noticeable. But its concentration, in his southern regions, made his stomach twist with horror and despair. Canada was hurting them, punishing them, and Russia seemed to find this _arousing_, even if in the slightest? He couldn't! He _couldn't_! He was hating every second of this, so why did his body disagree?

Canada smirked as he noticed Russia's face twist from confusion to a sort of self-hating anguish; the slow-working, not-so-powerful aphrodisiac he injected second must have started working. He didn't give him a lot, nor anything particularly strong, though; he was looking for a placebo effect. Turning away from the larger nation, Canada focused on his brother, lying on his back below him and clearly distressed.

He let his fingers barely graze America's torso, and revelled in the reflexive shiver and attempted recoil. Grinning maniacally, he ran his fingers all up and down his brother's chest, pressing and rubbing in some places as if relaxing his brother with a massage, lightly sweeping his hands along warm skin in other places, occasionally letting a stray breath waft over Nantucket. Through it all, America made some drugged movements, lifting his knees to block Canada's access to his vital regions, twisting away from his grasp, but nothing he tried was very effective or very strong. Russia tried also to move, finding similar success. He could only watch, practically helpless, as Canada crawled onto his twin, directing icy glares with an intense dark aura that Canada in his confidence seemed immune to.

Canada simply straddled his twin to block his legs and more firmly control his upper body's limited range of motion. With a sick smile, he leaned over his brother. One hand devoted itself to America's jaw and removing the gag in order to force it open, while the other assisted by providing Nantucket with unwanted attentions. America stiffened as he closed in, but Canada's fingers suddenly closed around Nantucket and firmly stroked the entire lock of hair, eliciting a shiver and a reflexive gasp, and Canada lunged.

Identical lips locked together and worked, back and forth, into a deep kiss, one pair humming with satisfaction, the other trembling in disbelief. With a little more teasing of Nantucket and working of Canada's mouth, he forced entrance into America's with his tongue, running over the surfaces of his pearly teeth, carving out the surface of his palate, wrapping around America's own tongue. He continued his explorations, ignoring the panicking heart beneath him and the sudden paleness of America's skin, brought on by terror and the need to breathe.

All the while Russia watched, face alternately flushing and draining of blood. He had long ago given up trying to intimidate Canada with glares, and now settled for worming, inch by inch, toward his captured lover. He took in every puff of heated breath in the room, every twitch of muscle, every little gasp and groan, from both nations. The sight of his Alfred enjoying his attentions was not a new one to him, and Canada seemed to be doing a fairly good job of forcing pleasure on him. Canada moved perfectly with his brother, reacted like him, and it was almost like seeing double. The thought made him blush, two Alfreds copulating. It was beautiful to imagine, but this was Canada, and this was rape, and whenever he caught himself flushing at the sight of them the horror that he was growing warmer to the sight of his lover's rape made him pale and dizzy.

Eventually, when Canada needed his own air, he released him. America tried to struggle back, but Canada held him by his limp shoulders even as he recovered his breath, face flushed. Suddenly, America spoke, and the unexpectedness of this makes both witnessing nations jump.

"C-Canada..." it was whispered, mewled, and in a voice close to tears, "...Why...?"

Canada only grinned in a very feral manner as he cornered his brother again and forced him into another hot, heavy kiss. This time, Canada spared nothing in making sure that America enjoyed it. Nantucket was teased excessively, tongues dancing, even if one partner stoutly refused. Despite himself, America began to turn red and groan, though never once did he seek to press into the kiss on his own. Russia watched, mouth open, whole being filling with shame as his cock began to react to the sight before him. Though such behavior naturally would be arousing, it was rape - _rape! _- of his precious America no less! When Canada broke apart for the second time, a thick strand of saliva broke onto America's lips, which Canada licked away. Then he turned to Russia with a triumphant look in his eyes before his hands began working what even Russia had to admit was magic on America's body, making light tracings and deep kneadings alike as the Canadian gloated.

"See, Russia? do you see that?" he nearly cheered. "He knew my touch, he knew my scent, he knew my taste! He can't hear me or see me, but he still knew me as his brother." Russia couldn't see how this was something to gloat over. He worked against the heat slowly building in him as well as the muscle relaxants and made little headway with either as Canada's fingers roamed south.

Alfred's mind moved painfully fast as he hurtled fearfully through the silence and darkness. He had been dragged from merciful sleep only to find himself drugged and bound, attacked by unwelcome hands he couldn't fend off and a scent he unfortunately recognized as familiar and something he loved, relied on, cared for. The denial he tried to hide and console himself in died when his mouth was plugged by another's, one tasting faintly of his brother's maple syrups, trying so hard to make him react, make him surrender. In the darkness and the silence he could take in no cues but the ones that he could feel, smell, or, unfortunately, taste, and when his security in ignorance after the two forceful kisses gave way to touches in places that _should not be touched that way by brothers, no, no never_, he couldn't take it anymore.

America gasped at the touch, but it sounded more like he was joking back a sob. "N-no, Matt... please stop!" he cried, futilely trying to evade his brother's hands as they circled his inner thighs and rubbed his balls. Canada froze.

For one wild moment, Russia allowed himself to hope that his brother's begging would make Canada come back to his senses, but the hope quickly died as Canada began rubbing America's shaft with a vengeance, sticking two fingers inside his mouth and coating them with spit, coaxing groans and helpless cries from his brother even as he stuck both fingers up his ass and began to move them around. The room, Russia's body, the air, the anger, it was all overheating, and Russia's stomach began to toss and turn, in anticipation and complete disgust, his cock was half-hard by this time and he just didn't know why, the sight of America being forced into this made his vision swim and his head go dizzy, swinging between two extremes of hazy heat and sharp cold horror. The ringing in his ears couldn't balance out the noise America was making however unwillingly.

"Nnngh... ah... Matt... Matthew... stop... Canada, stop... _stop!_"

Canada took no heed of his brother's pleas as he stroked his brother's cock to complete erection. Only then did he relent on his ministrations and stand up, walking out of view of both nations. The silence filling the house in his absence engulfed them.

"America! America!" Russia called, nearly desperate, to the distressed nation before him, ignoring his bindings, muscles, and own completely hard dick to try once again to move to America's side. "America, I'm sorry, I'm here, I'm so sorry..." A few tears, unbidden, sprang to his eyes as he heard the telltale hitching of breath come from America, followed by the quietest of sobs.

America couldn't hear him. Trapped in the darkness by the blindfold and the silence by the pair of ear protectors, left with a painfully hard erection courtesy of his _twin brother_, he could only cry at his helplessness and at his lack of understanding. Why would Canada ever do something like this to him? They had their arguments, and didn't always see eye to eye, but Canada didn't _hate _him. So... why?

His despairing inner thoughts ended as he noticed a cold, terrifying tension suddenly fill the room. If his senses hadn't been blocked, he would have seen Russia hyperventilating and dry heaving, staring at Canada with more fear than he'd ever shown Belarus.

For in his hand, fresh from the blizzard snows, was his omnipresent metallic pipe.

Russia froze up as he saw Canada smoothly handling the light but durable metal pipe in his hand, completely frozen from the subzero temperatures outside. "What are you planning to do with that?" Russia croaked.

Canada turned to him, and in the firelight, something mad glinted in his purple eyes. "I'm simply going to punish you both with this," he said, smiling as he held up his weapon of choice. Russia couldn't care less about the irony of the situation, or of the pain he was about to suffer. He only cared about America, quietly crying on the ground behind his brother.

"You hated my brother, Russia," Canada hissed, glaring down at the addressed Nation with complete hatred in his eyes. "You hardly made that a secret. We all know how much you wanted him dead and burning of atomic radiation. We all know how much you wanted to see his greed and capitalism cause him to crumble from the inside out and leave you the last man standing. And even if everyone else refuses to believe," his eyes narrowed, "that in the darkest corners of your mind, you secretly wanted my little brother bathed in red, garbed in red, saluting to you, bearing a hammer and sickle, I know that you secretly wanted that. I _know_. You wanted America bound before you like he is now, at your mercy, crying for you, subservient to you. You wanted to break him, make him bleed, force-feed him your ideals until he followed you like yet another pup. You wanted to cut him, snap him in half, whip him, burn him, electrocute him, rape him."

Canada's quietly enraged tirade sped up, firing off accusations in a salvo rapid as gunfire. Then, abruptly, he stopped. He turned back to Russia, having faced away from him while he paced, and stared at him with a manic smile. "Well, now you have what you always wanted. America getting punished, violated, just the way you wished." He held up the glinting silver and lapped up the way Russia's eyes widened and pupils constricted, breath choking off as he tried to breathe. "I daresay he almost deserves it, coming to you when all along he had me," Canada said conversationally, pulling out lubrication and slicking up the still-cold metal while Russia struggled to breathe. "This will be a lesson to him and you! He should have known better than to go to you, and you should have known better than to think you could ever be good enough for him." He walked over to America, lying defenseless and unaware, and Canada stared straight at Russia as he lowered himself but never touched America's limp legs. He began lining up the pipe with America's entrance, and finally, Russia emptied what little contents were in his stomach.

"Stop! Just stop!" begged, outright begged, ignoring the vile taste in his mouth and the way tears ran down his face. "Please! I'll do anything, Canada, just don't do this to him!"

Canada seemed to gain amusement from Russia's crying. "Ah-ah-ah," he said, as a parent might to a child. "If I let you both off, you wouldn't learn anything, right? America has to _know _why you're such a disgusting Nation to sleep with, and you have to learn that you could never be worthy of his affections, his kindness, his love. He is a pure person, full of light, whereas you are generally regarded as a menace. So no, I can't go easy on you. But rest assured," Canada brightened. "You'll both be sure to learn your lesson right the first time, and then I won't need to do it again!" And on that happy note, he lined up the pipe with America's entrance and pressed the tip to his skin.

* * *

><p>America shivered at the tension in the room tears still leaking down his face. His heart began to pound in the following stuffy silence as he waiting whatever unknown came next in total terror. His heart almost stopped and his blood almost froze as a freezing, metallic, slippery circle pressed itself against his entrance. From the amount of time he had seen... he could guess what it was.<p>

No. Oh, no.

That split second pause lasted forever, and then the pain began.

* * *

><p>Russia cringed through his tears as Canada forced the frigid pipe into America. The resulting howl of pain tore at the the sides of America's throat, so violent was the air rushing through his passageway. It hurt, it was numbed by the cold but the cold only made it hurt more, and the unnatural stiffness and <em>wrongness<em> of the pipe scraped at the sides of his rectum and the pipe came out bloody but _still_ it pushed back in, scraping more, freezing more, burning more, hurting more. America's ass began to sting and throb.

"Canada!" he sobbed. "Canada, _stop!_" he screamed, air grating his throat. He couldn't see his brother, couldn't hear anything, not even himself, but still, he cried on and on. Sometimes, Canada managed to hit his prostate, but all that would get from America was a heartbreaking sob or a particularly hysteric scream to let him go, to stop, _why_, Matt, what did I ever do you you, why are you doing this?

As Canada's cruel love went on, the pipe began to warm from America's own body heat, but never did he get used to it. His blindfold was now completely soaked with sweat and tears as his whole body shuddered with heat from the unwanted intrusion. "Please! Canada! No more! What did I d-do to you? Why are you do-ing this?" America cried. As he expected he could not hear any answer Canada might have seen fit to give. "Ivan...Ivan! Help me... Please! Stop!" he screamed, bordering on hysteria. "IVAN!"

Russia, for his part, couldn't bring himself to look away. He watched Canada force the pipe into America countless times, bringing a squirt of blood out with each retraction, and sometimes – he noticed sickly – some flesh. His stomach squeeze and he dry-heaved, but there was nothing left to expel. With despair, he felt wetness between his legs and realized his still-hard cock had begun to leak precum. It couldn't be from the sight before him. It couldn't be. He didn't _enjoy_ watching America scream and cry for Ivan to help him and for his older brother to stop hurting him, _doing_ this to him, watching Canada grin like some deranged criminal as he pushed his pipe in and out of America, occasionally helping his erection along with a stroke or two.

"Canada! P...P-please! Stop! Just stop!"

How could he be such a monster that he got hard over this?

"Aaahhhhhhh! Cana...Canada! No! W-why?"

What was wrong with him?

"_STOP!_"

Russia felt the heavy weight of hopelessness fall on his shoulders, and with it, complete fatigue. He could only watch, silently, through thickly falling tears, and Canada pounded America again and again, not intent on stopping until his little brother reached orgasm. It seemed forever until Canada finally deciphered what America's louder cries meant and aimed consistently at the spot, despite his brother's continuing but subsiding sobs, screams, and pleas to stop. His face was red both from exhaustion and from the pressure building up in his throbbing cock, and by the time he ejaculated, he could barely manage to croak. Russia watched America's body relax into the afterglow, covered in sweat, tears, and semen, and was horrified to notice his own cum on himself as well.

He...he couldn't... have gotten off... to America... being raped... by his own brother... with his own pipe... He couldn't have...

As Canada methodically cleaned off the soiled pipe, Russia felt something within him break. In complete anguish and self-hatred, he broke down and began to cry in earnest as Canada made his way over to his brother, cut the ropes around his ankles, and walked out the door.

* * *

><p>Yeah, for my first time with non-con, that kind of sucked. Ah, well. Grounds for improvement. And I'm not really sorry if you don't like Nantucket as an erogenous zone, because I do. Whee.<p>

Fun fact: in ancient times, incest was considered a privilege reserved for royal families because it preserved their bloodlines. It also entitled them to a monopoly on horrendous genetic defects. Take example A: King Tut of ancient Egypt, the product of three or four generations of almost completely immediate-family incest. Examinations of his skeleton now reveal that it was unlikely he was ever able to walk. And, of course, he died in his late teens. Incest is awesome!

One more chapter, just because that's just such a shitty ending to a story.

Palates... in case you didn't know, that's the technical term for "roof of the mouth", and surprisingly, for once a medical term is less wordy than the everyday. But yeah. Palates are obnoxious when learning to roll your Rs... as an American-English speaking individual, I can't help but wonder if those who fluently (or natively) speak a romance language, or any language requiring a rolled R, find the English R as obnoxious as English-speakers find their various Rs.


End file.
